Disposition
by rebyl
Summary: When Mike is hurt on the way to work, Harvey steps in to help him. Mike finally learns that Harvey does care about him, even he doesn't say it.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** _Suits_ does not belong to me.

**Disclaimer #2:** I started writing this around the third episode of the first season. Though I've included little bits of info along the way as new episodes have arrived, any inconsistencies with the show are due to the fact that we obviously don't have all the info yet. :)

**Author's note:** This story is the result of the following prompt from the suits meme on LJ: _Mike gets knocked off his bike on the way to work. He takes a pretty bad bump to the head, and gets a bit bruised up. I'm open to maybe a break, though. Nothing majorly serious, but something that warrants medical attention. Meanwhile, at the office, Harvey is starting to get all pissy about Mike being late. Until he finds out he's at the hospital, that is, and he's out of there so fast, Donna barely has enough time to ask what's going on._

* * *

><p>It happened like this: One minute he was on his bike, and the next he was flying. Afterwards, all he could remember was the brief sensation of being weightless, and then nothing. The next time he opened his eyes, there was an EMT bending over him, telling him to lie still, and a crowd gathered just beyond the little bubble of space that had obviously been cleared around him.<p>

His head ached with each beat of his heart as the guy bent over him, talking about something Mike couldn't be bothered to decipher. He strapped some kind of plastic brace around Mike's neck, and then moved away leaving Mike's half-squinted eyes exposed to the direct sunlight overhead. That's when the real pain hit. His eyes teared up as giant ice picks stabbed right through his eye sockets and into his brain.

He must've groaned (but he couldn't be sure because _oh my god the ice picks were stabbing his brain_) and then suddenly the EMT seemed to notice his predicament and moved back over to block the light again with his body.

He was lifted into the back of an ambulance before he managed to put his thoughts together to protest - and when exactly had they put him on a stretcher?

Mike figured they must've given him some sort of drug, because the pain from the ice picks had softened to a dull ache and he was actually able to form a coherent thought. Two, actually. The first concerned money (of course), and the fact that he'd recently paid his grandmother's medical bills with his sign-on bonus, and spent most of his first couple paychecks on better suits which left very little for medical bills of his own. In fact, since new employees had to wait ninety days for their benefits to kick in, he was currently without insurance as well.

His second thought involved his suit – one of his better ones, in fact – and whether or not it had been ruined in his brief failed flight.

Those two thoughts made him remember something else that probably should've hit him long before now: he was going to be very late for work. He groaned again, intentionally this time, causing the EMT in the back of the ambulance to pause whatever he was doing and look at him.

"You doing all right?"

"Need to call my boss," he all but moaned, wondering how likely it was Harvey would overlook the fact that he was going to be very late _and _miss an appointment with a client this morning because he'd apparently decided to go all E.T. with his bike.

If the EMT thought it was a strange request, he didn't show it. Or maybe Mike just couldn't tell because the ambulance was moving and everything was swaying. In either case, the guy pointed to Mike's messenger bag that was propped up on the bench beside him. "Is your phone in your bag? Because there isn't one on you."

"It should be," he answered carefully, only now realizing he should be grateful that someone had thought to salvage his bag. He didn't feel very grateful, though. He'd probably feel more inclined towards gratefulness once he got ahold of Harvey and made sure he still had a job.

The EMT found his phone, and began scrolling through the contact list. "What's your boss' name? I'll call him for you."

"Harvey." Mike suddenly realized he was awfully tired. Way too tired to protest the fact that some random EMT was about to call his boss.

His eyes drifted closed.

* * *

><p>A glance through the glass walls of the office told Donna that Harvey had started to pace.<p>

This was a bad sign.

Mike was late. But his being late wasn't exactly a new thing, and it usually only left Harvey mildly annoyed (despite how much he blustered about it to Mike). This time was a little different, though. Mike hadn't stayed late the night before, and he knew they were meeting with a client in exactly 32 minutes. A picky client that required a little… finesse. Finesse that Mike wouldn't have when he next interacted with the client because he hadn't been here for Harvey to get him up to speed before the meeting.

Sure, Harvey could handle the client himself, but Mike was supposed be there. Not only because there was a good chance he'd be dealing with this particular client at least occasionally, but because it was his job to be wherever Harvey told him to be, whenever Harvey told him to be there.

The more Donna thought about it, the more annoyed she became on Harvey's behalf. Harvey was risking a lot on this kid; if he couldn't be bothered to show up, Donna would find a way to make sure he landed right back on his ass, no matter _what _Harvey had to say about it.

Still, Donna was wise enough to know better than to show Harvey how annoyed she was. She went to stand in the door of his office.

"That's industrial-grade carpet. Even at the rate you're going, it'll take forever to actually wear a hole in it."

"He's late, damn it."

"Yeah, and pacing will probably get him here faster."

He'd just opened his mouth to reply, when his cell phone started ringing. He grabbed his phone to answer it, holding up a finger to signal Donna that he _did_ have a retort for her, and it was _good_.

She rolled her eyes.

"Harvey Specter." A pause. "How bad is he hurt?"

Another pause. Donna waited to see if he'd signal her at all, but he was staring intently at the floor while he listened to whatever the other person was saying. Suddenly he straightened.

"Thank you. I'll be there shortly."

Harvey disconnected the call and moved to his desk to get his keys without even looking at Donna.

"Hey, what -"

Harvey cut her off before she could finish her question. "Cancel my appointments today."

He'd already started striding towards the door.

"Damn it, Harvey, what's going on? Is Mike hurt?"

Harvey finally looked at her almost as if he was surprised to see her standing there; clearly, his mind had already been miles away. "Yeah. Somebody hit him. They're taking him to St. Luke's, so I'm going over there."

Donna felt her stomach drop with guilt over the thoughts she'd been having about Mike earlier. Poor kid. "Is he all right?"

Harvey had already started moving past her. "Don't know," he tossed over his shoulder. "He had a brief loss of consciousness; they say he's disoriented."

Donna opened her mouth to ask more, but Harvey was already gone.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sir, why don't you just relax a few more minutes? The doctor will be over to speak with you soon."

Mike sat on the edge of the gurney, feet dangling because the stupid thing was too high for a normal human being to reach all the way to the floor. _They probably do that on purpose so it's harder to escape_, he supposed. Which was stupid because it'd be easy enough to hop off when the time came.

"Can't I relax with my shirt on?" They'd taken his shirt away at some point, and he had no idea where it was. When he'd asked for it, they'd given him a hospital gown 'in case he was cold', they'd said.

More like 'in case he wanted to leave before they were ready for him to', which was now. If he could just get his damn shirt back.

"Sir, you'd be warmer if you'd use the hospital gown."

"I'd be warmer with my shirt." He didn't _want_ to put on the damn gown. Once he did that, they'd have him. And there was no way he was staying here no matter _what _the doctor said. He couldn't afford it.

The nurse sighed and moved towards the curtain that separated his gurney from the rest of the E.R. Unfortunately, it didn't look like she was rushing off to find his shirt.

"I'd really appreciate it if you'd at least lie back. You're going to get dizzy and fall if you insist on sitting on the edge like that."

Mike couldn't think of anything to say in the half-second it took her to stalk away. Damn his sluggish brain.

He _was _dizzy though… He decided to go ahead and lie back – not because he was going to fall, but because he hoped a sign of cooperation on his part would expedite the return of his shirt.

He didn't realize his eyes had closed again until he heard the nurse and the doctor approaching.

"He's fairly coherent, but he keeps insisting that we bring him his shirt. He's not being very cooperative."

Only _fairly _coherent? Mike resented that. He strained to hear what the doctor was saying, but all he could make out was the murmur of a male voice on the other side of the curtain.

The curtain moved aside suddenly, and Harvey appeared, an unreadable look on his face.

The nurse's voice drifted in from somewhere behind Harvey. "Maybe you can get him to cooperate."

"I plan to." Harvey pulled the curtain back into place.

"How in the –" Mike trailed off. He didn't remember calling work. "I swear I was going to call you. They took my phone. And my bag. _And my shirt_!"

Harvey was giving him one of his patented 'cut the bullshit' looks, but so far he hadn't said anything.

And that was really unnerving.

Mike grunted and leaned forward, pulling himself up to his former position on the edge of the gurney. He closed his eyes briefly as the room spun. "You didn't have to come down here; I'm leaving as soon as they give me my stuff back." They'd taken his watch, too, so he wasn't even sure how late he was. Pretty damn late, he guessed.

Harvey still hadn't replied; he seemed to be staring at something on Mike's chest, which caused Mike to look down to see what it was. But that made the room spin more and would've tipped him right off the edge of the gurney, except that suddenly Harvey's hands were on his shoulders, pushing him back down.

"Will you just lie down?"

Mike didn't want to lie down, but all the movement was making him dizzy as hell. The room still hadn't stopped spinning when the curtain parted, and the doctor walked in.

"Good morning, Mr. Ross, I'm doctor Warren."

Mike closed his eyes again as Harvey introduced himself to the doctor _and when had Harvey become his mother? _Maybe his head injury was worse than he thought, because this couldn't be his life.

Once the right amount of pleasantries had apparently been exchanged the doctor finally got down to business.

"Well, Mr. Ross, you're a very lucky man. You do have a concussion, but you're not showing signs of anything more serious, so that's good. That bike helmet probably saved your life."

Mike smirked to himself, barely suppressing the urge to giggle. Harvey hated his helmet. _Ha. How many times has your suit vest saved your life, Harvey?_

"What about his ribs?" Harvey wanted to know, eyeing Mike's chest again, where Mike had glimpsed dark splotches just before Harvey had saved him from spilling onto the floor.

"They're not broken, but they're bruised pretty good. I know all the bruising looks pretty bad, but this is one of those cases where it really does look worse than it is. Although he's going to be feeling it as soon as the pain relief they gave him wears off."

"_He's_ right here. And _He _is just fine."

"Are you going to admit him, or is he free to go?" Harvey continued as if Mike hadn't even spoken.

"I'd like to keep him overnight for observation, but I'll release him if there's someone he can stay with. We just need to be sure he doesn't develop any additional symptoms over the next 24 hours or so. And, he'll be in a lot more pain tomorrow, even with oral pain meds. I'd feel better if someone were around to make sure he didn't do anything strenuous."

Mike brought his hands up to cover his face, this time suppressing a groan. There wasn't anyone he could stay with, but if it'd get him released he'd make something up.

"He can stay with me."

Mike's hands flew from his face. "Wait – what?"

"All right. I'll get the nurse to bring you the paperwork, and see if we can't find the rest of his things."

"Hold on - What… ?"

But the doctor was already gone, having pleasantly stood there and let Harvey make all the decisions for Mike as if he were in a coma. _Oh my god…_

"Am I in a coma? You can hear me, right? Or is this like an out-of-body experience?"

Mike received an exasperated look that didn't really answer his question. Then the nurse was back and miracle of miracles, she'd brought with her a large plastic bag containing his messenger bag, and his shirt!

Harvey stepped back out – whether to give him privacy or to go see to the paperwork, he had no idea. Apparently he was no longer a big boy capable of looking after himself.

The nurse laid the bag on one end of the gurney, and he sat forward to dig his shirt out.

"You're very lucky, you know. All of this could've been much worse." She spoke quietly as he pulled his shirt out and grimaced at it. It was looking a little worse for wear.

"Soon as you get dressed, I'll make sure they've given your friend your prescription. And you be sure and take it as soon as you get home. You're going to start feeling the pain soon, young man."

Mike slipped an arm into his shirt, pondering the irony of her statement. He'd definitely feel some pain staying with Harvey. His boss would probably use the time to make him work on cases around the clock.

"We're not friends; he's got a vested interest in me. If I died he'd have to make all his own copies and do his own legwork. He'd be devastated."

The nurse only glared at him, even as she helped him bring the back of the shirt up and slip his other arm in.


	3. Chapter 3

Donna had just finished rearranging her boss' schedule to accommodate all the day's canceled clients when the phone rang. Except it wasn't the office phone, it was her personal cell. She glanced at the screen to see who it was before picking up.

"Harvey, you'd better have some news for me." She still couldn't believe he'd all but run out of the office with nothing but a '_Mike's been in an accident… might be dying, who knows? Byyyye!_'

"He'll be fine. He has a concussion, so he's a little out of it, and he's bruised from head to toe, but he's okay. I'm taking him to my place to keep an eye on him so he doesn't have to stay overnight for observation."

She wasn't surprised. Harvey had a thing with hospitals; he acted like they were a fate worse than death sometimes. When asked, he usually said something about not liking to be around sick people, or hating the way hospitals smelled, but Donna suspected it had more to do with the his mother's slow death in a hospice facility. Harvey rarely talked about the things that really bothered him.

Still, Donna doubted Harvey would admit to Mike that he hated hospitals too much to let his new associate stay there over night if he didn't have to. Admitting that would lead to too many questions Harvey wouldn't want to answer.

Sometimes Donna wished other people knew Harvey like she did. Unfortunately, he kept the real Harvey so hidden that people didn't even realize that they didn't really know him. Donna was one of only a handful of people who really knew Harvey and counted him as a friend. She suspected Mike had even fewer friends than that. The two of them were alike in ways they didn't even know because they were both so busy putting up a nice front.

"Donna? Are you still there?"

She mentally shook herself. "Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about Mike. Poor kid. So what can I do to help?"

"I need you to do a little shopping for me. Mike will need something to sleep in, and probably a couple things he can just wear and be comfortable in. Plus, you should probably get him some basic toiletries. Whatever you think he'd want."

Donna smiled. One of the perks of her job was shopping with Harvey's money.

"Where are you now? Want me to bring it all to your place?"

"Yeah, bring it to my place. We're in the car headed there right now."

"Okay. Is he doing all right in the car? Head injuries can make people nauseated, you know."

"He's okay; he fell asleep again. He's been kinda in and out since I got to the hospital. One minute he's ranting about his shirt or something, and the next he's out. Doctor said it was fine, though."

Donna could hear the worry Harvey would never admit to in his voice. "If the doctor wasn't worried about it, I'm sure it _is _fine."

"Yeah. Hey, take the rest of the day off once you're done, all right?"

"Oh Harvey. You always know just what to say," she said sweetly, and then smiled when she heard his soft chuckle before disconnecting the call.

* * *

><p>They arrived at Harvey's penthouse, which was impressive and expensive, and <em>oh-so-Harvey<em>, but it was also bright as hell and made Mike's head pound that much more.

Harvey immediately made him take one of the pills he'd been given at the hospital. Mike hadn't even bothered to find out which drug it was, and he didn't much care as long as it'd take the edge off his headache that was quickly moving along the pain spectrum from 'annoying head pain' to 'the spikes in my brain!'

Once the drug kicked in everything got a bit more hazy, and Mike was relieved to feel a separation from the pain. He could still feel it, but it was like the pain was coming from farther away. Which didn't make a lot of sense, but then his brain felt farther away too, so he couldn't think of another way to describe it.

Of course, when Harvey asked him how he was feeling and he tried to explain how nice it was to be at least fifteen feet or so from the pain, Harvey had just given him one of those looks that said, "Oooookay... I'm going to pretend that made sense because you're freaking me out."

Harvey offered Mike his guest room so he could lay down a while, but Mike opted to stay out on the living room couch where he was "watching" a boxing match that Harvey had turned on.

"Watching" because in reality what he was doing was closer to blinking stupidly at what had to be the biggest television Mike had ever seen outside of Time's Square. The boxers looked big enough that Mike almost wanted to duck out of the way of the right hooks that were being thrown in 1080p HD.

He must've dozed off at some point, because the next thing he knew, Harvey was calling his name and pressing a bag into his hands.

He straightened from where he'd been slumped, sunk into the plush back of Harvey's couch, and noted that his chest, and a few other parts of him weren't happy with the movement.

He must've winced without realizing it, because Harvey's hand was suddenly on his elbow, helping him up with admonishments to "just take it easy."

Which was strange, because really, he'd fallen asleep on Harvey's couch in the middle of the day, how much easier could he possibly take it?

Once standing, he looked down in confusion at the bag he was now holding.

"Donna picked up something for you to change into." Harvey explained, ushering him towards the bathroom.

And when exactly had Donna come? He glanced around, careful not to move his head too fast. "Did she bring the files for the Anderson case?"

"What-? Why would she do that?"

"I need to go over the contract. They're claiming -"

"Just go change." Harvey cut him off before he could explain.

"Look, I need to check if -"

"Damn it, Mike, will you shut up about the case already?"

Mike swallowed the rest of what he'd been about to say. He couldn't understand why Harvey was getting so irritated about the case. Headache or not, he could carry his own damn weight. If he could just get those files, he could prove it.

Harvey's face filled Mike's field of vision as he stepped around in front of him, blocking the piece of empty air he'd been staring at.

"Mike, you're not working right now, you're resting. Please, just- just go get comfortable, all right? You can't rest in that damn suit."

With a befuddled sigh, Mike headed toward the bathroom.


	4. Chapter 4

Mike cracked his eyes open with a groan. It was bright, and his head hurt.

He laid there a minute, recalling the previous day in a parade a vague drug-muddled images. He remembered getting into an accident, and ending up at the hospital. He remembered a nurse taking most of his stuff so they could take x-rays. He remembered Harvey showing up, but how he'd known to come, Mike still had no idea. He remembered that the doctor had liked Harvey better than him (and he still resented that _thank-you-very-much_).

He vaguely remembered a car ride, and getting back to Harvey's place. And he remembered boxing... and Harvey making him change into sweats and a t-shirt. He remembered eating takeout at some point, and then more TV, and eventually going to lay down in Harvey's guest room.

He may have asked about a case at some point, but he wasn't sure whether or not he'd imagined that part. He'd been _thinking _about a case, but the only recollection he had was Harvey telling him not to worry about it, so it was probably something he only imagined asking about. (Though even that seemed strange, because he'd never known Harvey to tell him not to worry about cases, even in his own head.)

Judging by the brightness of the room, it had to be morning, so Mike figured it was about time to get up and face the music. He'd have a lot of work to catch up on today. He only hoped it wasn't already too late; Harvey didn't like his associate coming in later than he did.

Mike finally moved to sit up and immediately regretted it, falling back with a strangled cry as breath-stealing pain gripped his chest. _Holy shit. _His breath came in little pants while he attempted to get oxygen without actually moving his chest.

He was dying, he was absolutely sure. Harvey must've stabbed him while he was asleep in bed. His hands crept carefully down his chest, completely expecting to feel his blood seeping out of a dozen or so wounds.

Only there was no blood that he could detect. Which meant that Harvey must've _bludgeoned_ him while he slept. Which was just _mean_.

Tears sprang to Mike's eyes, though whether they were from the fiery pain lancing his chest and head, or the thought that his boss had tried to murder him, he wasn't sure.

He closed his eyes, causing the moisture to overflow and track down towards his ears. Suddenly, he detected a shadow, and opened his eyes to see his boss - his _murderer _looming over him.

"Whoa, hey, let's get you some pain meds."

Harvey walked out of his line of sight, and Mike could hear water running briefly, before he reappeared holding a glass full of water and a pill.

"Can you sit up? Wait, never mind. Just open up and I'll lift your head a little."

He allowed his head to be lifted, and swallowed the offered pill and water (more because he couldn't do much else at that point than because he really trusted that his murderer wasn't just trying to murder him quicker - this time with poison.)

"Why did you hit me?" he muttered. He'd been a good associate, he thought. As far as pot-head, screw-up, fake lawyers could be, anyway.

"What are you talking about? I didn't hit you, a _car _hit you."

"What's wrong with your hair... and your clothes?" He didn't even look like Harvey. The Harvey he knew wouldn't be caught dead in shorts and a ratty t-shirt, with hair that fell into his eyes while simultaneously sticking up.

Harvey ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up even more, and in odd places.

"I don't sleep in a three piece suit, Mike. And I don't roll out of bed with my hair perfectly styled." He rolled his eyes.

"Just lay there... and don't move until the Vicodin kicks in."

"Vicodin makes me loopy."

"Yeah... I noticed that yesterday."

* * *

><p>When Mike noticed that the pain meds had taken effect, he scooted to the edge of the bed, being careful not to make any sudden movements. Then, he shuffled towards the open door of the room, intent on finding Harvey and... actually, he wasn't sure yet what he wanted to do, but he knew that finding Harvey was probably the first step.<p>

He was still a few feet from the door when he heard Harvey's voice. He stood just out of sight, listening to Harvey's end of a phone conversation.

"Tell her I'll make it worth her while. You know all my usual incentives; just offer her whatever it takes, okay?

"You're sure? Okay, how long do you think it'd take her -

"Yeah, okay. We'll be ready.

"Thanks, Donna, I owe you one."

It sounded like Harvey was about to meet up with a client. Mike wondered if he could escape before he got roped into coming along. Of course, the way Harvey had said 'we'll be ready', Mike realized that he may not have much choice.

He stepped through the open door and made his way out to the living room where Harvey sat on his couch, staring at a blank TV screen. Except unlike the last time Mike had seen him, Harvey was already showered and dressed.

"How did you get ready so fast?"

Harvey looked up at him. "Mike, it's been almost an hour since you woke up."

"Oh." It hadn't seemed that long. "Time flies when you're writhing in pain, I guess."

Harvey grimaced, apparently not appreciating Mike's attempt at levity.

"So... I'm just gonna call a cab and get out of your hair now..." Mike mentally pleaded with Harvey not to make him stay and work. Which was ironic, if Mike thought about it, because work had been the first thing on his mind this morning. Only now he was dosed with Vicodin, and his brain was mostly offline and definitely not up for anything too productive.

Harvey only nodded his head, as if it was the most reasonable request in the world, except he didn't offer Mike a phone, or a ride in his town car.

"Why don't you sit down and relax a bit. I'll get you some toast."

Well _that _brought him up short. He stood there, trying to think if there was some obscure connection between toast and getting a ride home. Unfortunately, his fuzzy brain wasn't coming up with anything.

He startled a bit when Harvey grabbed him gently by the elbow and led him to the couch.

"Just relax, Mike. You're going to strain something with all that thinking." The older man pushed him gently into a sitting position. "I'll be right back."

True to his word, Harvey was back minutes later, with a small plate of toast, and a glass of milk. Harvey had brought him _milk_.

"Where's Rod Sterling?" Mike asked, causing Harvey to look at him in confusion.

"This _is _an episode of the Twilight Zone, right? Rod Sterling should be narrating..."

Harvey rolled his eyes. "He's in the kitchen talking to Rachel Ray, all right? Eat the toast."

"Rachel Ray from 30 Minute Meals? I love her." He took a bite of the toast, pleased to find that it had been buttered for him.

"Tell her her toast is _awesome_."


	5. Chapter 5

As it turned out, the mysterious person Mike had overheard Harvey talking about wasn't a client after all; Harvey had arranged for a doctor to come check on him. A _doctor_. Because apparently Mike had been "zoning out" and "not making much sense".

All that was left was for Harvey to say he was "_fairly _coherent"...

"Have you been experiencing any dizziness?" the doctor, (a pretty young red head, as it turned out), was asking him now.

"Um... a little. Mostly when I move too fast." He glanced nervously at Harvey, who was sitting nearby, watching the proceedings with a scowl. It almost felt like he was waiting for Mike to get one of the answers wrong.

Which was weird, because so far the questions hadn't even been that difficult.

"Mike?" she waited until Mike looked back at her again. "What about vomiting?"

"No, none of that."

"Great. Well, your pupils look fine, so I don't think there's anything to worry about as far as the head injury is concerned. Harvey mentioned that you were in a lot of pain this morning; could you lift up your shirt for me so I can take a look at the bruising on your chest real quick?"

"Harvey is being weird," Mike muttered, even as he lifted his shirt in compliance.

The doctor leaned forward and peered at his chest. "I'm going to press very gently along your ribs with the palm of my hand, okay? Let me know if it gets too uncomfortable."

He managed not to make a sound as she pressed all over his chest, but it was a near thing. He wondered, in the part of his mind that wasn't crying like a 10-year-old girl, what the typical threshold of "too uncomfortable" was supposed to be for a grown man.

Once she was finally done, he lowered his shirt, and she said basically the same thing he'd been told in the Emergency Room: his ribs were bruised.

He felt kinda bad that Harvey had made her come all the way out here just to find that he was merely a wimp with bruised ribs and an 'ouchie' head.

He must've said it aloud because she winked at him and told him not to worry about it; Harvey was going to make it worth her while.

Of course, that statement made him take a second glance at the wedding ring she wore (out of habit more than anything else, because he remembered seeing it on her when she first came in.)

Harvey was quick to clarify, "Mike, this is Donna's sister."

The doctor, who Mike was just now noticing did bear a resemblance to Harvey's secretary, continued for him, "Donna's sister who will be spending two wonderful weeks with her husband in Harvey's condo."

Harvey lifted an eyebrow, but looked amused. "Two weeks, huh?"

She shrugged. "What can I say? I drive a hard bargain."

Harvey chuckled briefly before sobering again. "So his concussion is doing okay, and his ribs are fine... Anything I should be worried about?"

"Not really. The main thing is that his symptoms will begin to lessen - they shouldn't get worse. If he's suddenly dizzier, or starts throwing up, or passes out, then he'll need to get a re-check. Otherwise, he'll be fine."

It seemed that Harvey had become his mother again. And that was just a little _scary_. He seemed to be listening intently to Donna's sister as she went on about his health... and how scary was it that Donna had a sister who was a doctor? A doctor who had now _examined _him.

The conversation Harvey and said doctor were having caught his attention again when he heard her talking about how he needed to keep resting and not do anything strenuous.

"... and really, as long as he's suffering from concussion-related headaches, he should stay away from anything that requires mental concentration: reading, using the computer, even watching TV too long could make his head feel worse."

Mike groaned softly and closed his eyes, slumping back in the couch cushions. "Just shoot me," he muttered under his breath. Suddenly this whole thing was making him very tired.

"How long should he stay away from those things?" he heard Harvey asking.

"A few days, at the very least. A week would be better. It all depends on how he feels. If, in a few days, he feels like his headaches are gone and he wants to read, he can try it out for a little while. He'll just need to stop if it gives him a headache."

"When do I get to be a grown-up again?" he grumbled, without opening his eyes.

"You can go back to that rat-hole you call an apartment when I'm sure you're not going to get dizzy and pass out in it."

Mike grunted. It figured. Harvey didn't trust him to...to... Mike abruptly lost his train of thought as he succumbed to sleep again.

The next time he opened his eyes, Mike immediately regretted two things: one, he'd fallen asleep on the couch again, and he felt stiff and sore; and two, he'd been examined by Donna's doctor-sister, and hadn't even gotten her name. Donna would probably have a full report on Mike's health on her desk by the next work day, and Mike didn't even so much as know the woman's name.

Since he had no desire to move and find out just _how _sore the couch had made him this time, Mike decided to solve the one problem he could solve.

"What's Donna's sister's name?" he called out, figuring Harvey was probably hovering nearby.

"Which one?" Came the reply from somewhere behind the couch, about where Mike remembered Harvey's table being located.

"The one who _examined _me."

He couldn't see Harvey, but the eyeroll was evident in the tone of his voice. "Mike, nobody _examined _you. Donna's sister, Dr. Linda Meyers, came by to check on you. She looked into your eyes and got a glimpse of one side of your chest."

"I can hear you rolling your eyes, and I don't appreciate it."

Harvey didn't answer but Mike just knew...

"See? You just did it again. Stop."

Finally, Harvey appeared, coming around the side of the couch to stand in front of Mike, who was still thoroughly slumped into the cushions.

"Are you going to get up any time soon? _Can _you even get up?"

"Why? Are you afraid I might hurt myself? You're being awfully caring for a guy who claims not to care."

Harvey smirked. "Oh, I'm not worried about _you_, I'm worried about my couch and the permanent dent your backside is leaving in it."

"Ah, Snarky Harvey is back. You must be feeling better now."

Harvey moved out of Mike's line of sight, presumably to go back to whatever he'd been working on. "If you pee on my couch, I'm going to throw you out into the hall."

Mike snorted, and began the slow, careful process of extricating himself from the cushions.

"You sound like an 80-year-old man with all that groaning." came Harvey's teasing voice from the other side of the room.

"Ha ha ha. You're hilarious." He started towards the bathroom.

After relieving himself, (thereby ensuring that he wouldn't be tossed into the hall), Mike checked the bathroom for his Vicodin.

It wasn't there.

However, in yet another surreal display of un-Harvey-like behavior, Mike saw that while he'd been in the bathroom, Harvey had heated a plate of food, set a place for him at the table, and put a pill and glass of water next to the place mat.

He shuffled over. "So... who died and made you Martha Stewart all of a sudden?"

"Martha Stewart, obviously."

Mike found that he had no answer for that. He sat and made a grab for his pill, only to be stopped by Harvey pulling it, and the napkin it rested on out of his reach.

"Eat something first."

"Um... what? You didn't make me eat anything first this morning."

"My mistake. The doctor said these shouldn't be taken on an empty stomach if you can help it."

Mike groaned. Great, now Harvey was going to be his mother _and _his nurse. "Aren't you going to eat?"

"Already did. You slept through lunch."

Now that he thought about it, Mike wondered just how long he'd been asleep. Apparently Harvey had had time to finish talking to the doctor, make lunch, eat, and start on what looked like a new case file. One that -

"Hey," Harvey closed the open folder Mike had been trying to read upside down from across the table, "no reading. Just eat."

"Yes, Mother." Mike grumbled. He took a bite of what looked like casserole. "Hey, can I go out and play after I eat?"

Harvey had reopened the folder he'd been reading from, this time tilting it towards himself so Mike couldn't see anything. "Nope. You can go sit somewhere and be quiet, though. That'll be fun."

Mike had been joking, but he was half afraid that Harvey might be serious. "Fine, I'll go check out your movie collection then. I'll be quiet, though."

"No TV; doctor's orders."

"I watched TV yesterday!"

"My mistake."

"I could read -"

"No reading."

"Well I should at least be able to -"

"Nope."

"You didn't even hear what I was going to -"

"No."

Mike put his fork down. As amusing as all this banter was, he was seriously going to go insane if he couldn't do anything. "Did Dr. Meyers give you anything in writing? Because I'm not sure I believe you anymore."

Harvey bent over and retrieved a couple loose papers from a case on the floor. "Right here."

"Let me see that."

"No reading, remember?"

Mike groaned and laid his head down next to the half-eaten casserole. He heard Harvey sigh.

"You make it way too easy, you know that?"

Mike didn't even bother lifting his head. "You're mean."

Harvey chuckled. "Take your pill and I'll show you the books you can use."

As it turned out, the books he could "use", not "read", were part of a collection of audio books that Harvey had. He handed Mike an iPad, with instructions to "pick something quick" so as not to strain his eyes.

Mike tried to be quick, but the collection was _amazing_. Harvey had everything from the classics, to books on law, to Sci-Fi novels and... a few Harlequin romances? _Really?_

Mike didn't realize Harvey had been standing behind him until he heard, "Shut up, they were my mother's."

"I wasn't going to say anything." He'd _totally _been about to say something.

He finally settled on one of the Sci-Fi novels; it'd been too long since he'd read (or listened) to anything just for fun.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite the fact that a part of Mike still wondered if Harvey had been possessed by a polite, and extremely _domestic _alien, his second day of recuperation at Harvey's house had been going pretty well. Which, if Mike had thought about it, should've been warning enough that something would go wrong.

Still, he was unprepared for how quickly everything fell apart.

After listening to an entire novel on Harvey's iPad, Mike decided he wanted a shower. He found the bag of things Donna had brought for him on the nightstand in the guest bedroom, and dumped it out onto the bed to get a better look at its contents.

A couple of shirts, another pair of sweats, several pairs of underwear, and a package of socks: Mike set them all aside, doing his best to _not _think of how Donna correctly guessed all his sizes. The toiletries had been at the very bottom of the bag, and it was obvious that Donna had bought one of pretty much everything known to man. Something small slipped off the edge of the bed and hit the floor, barely making a noise on the carpet.

He saw shampoo, and conditioner – both for "normal" hair, shaving cream, after shave, razors, moisturizer, and zit cream… _really? _He made a mental note to bring it to work with him sometime and leave it anonymously on Kyle's desk.

There was also a tooth brush, mouthwash, toothpaste, floss, foot powder, a comb _and _a hair brush, hair gel, hair spray… either Donna really enjoyed shopping, or she was trying to be funny; there were more toiletries on the bed than Mike had in his own bathroom. It made him wonder what had fallen off the bed…

Mike slid off the bed and bent down to retrieve whatever it was. He didn't see it immediately, so he bent closer to the floor, cheek pressing against the carpet, and lifted the bed skirt to see if it had somehow rolled underneath.

He saw it a few inches under the bed: chapstick. _Of course_.

He couldn't help but take a moment to appreciate Harvey's carpet up close as he retrieved the wayward cylinder. The carpet wasn't plush; it was compact enough that the chapstick had been able to roll under the bed, but it felt incredibly soft under his cheek. He ran his hand over it appreciatively, wondering when they had invented plush, not-plush carpet, and why he hadn't been informed.

"That _can't _be comfortable." Harvey's voice from the doorway startled him, and he shot to his feet, completely forgetting about his bruised ribs and aching head.

Which turned out to be a mistake, because no sooner had he regained his feet than his vision went dark and he felt the world tipping sideways.

The next thing Mike knew, he was on the floor, and if the sharp pain in his side was anything to go by, the carpet hadn't been nearly as soft as he thought.

"Ow…" He groaned and wrapped an arm around his left side, squeezing his eyes shut. He heard Harvey's voice speaking quickly in the background, but he couldn't quite make out the words over the rushing in his ears.

It wasn't long before the rushing started going away, though, and Mike opened his eyes again. The room seemed to be very slowly spinning to the right, like a carnival ride that was just about to stop.

"I'm ready to get off." he muttered. He'd always hated carnivals.

Harvey appeared in his field of vision looking more distressed than Mike had ever seen him. "What?"

"Dizzy. This ride sucks. I want off."

Harvey laid a trembling hand on Mike's arm. "Just stay still, okay? The paramedics are on their way."

Mike frowned. Why was Harvey trembling? And why was he – wait a second… "The _paramedics_? Are you kidding?"

Mike pushed Harvey's arm off, and tried to sit up, only to be restrained by two hands firmly pushing on his shoulders. "Stay still."

Things were becoming clearer by the minute, and Mike did _not _like where this was headed. He tried his best Calm-Voice-of-Reason; Harvey usually responded to that one better than anything else. "I'm fine, Harvey. I was just a little dizzy."

"I know."

Harvey's voice said he knew, but his hands still held him pinned firmly to the floor.

"Let me up, Harvey."

"Not happening, Mike."

"Harvey, let me _up_." He couldn't help raising his voice as the panic began to creep in. He was _not _going back to the hospital. He wasn't even covered under the insurance yet. If the paramedics came… even if they just took him to the ER to get checked out the cost could be over a thousand dollars.

"Let me _up_, damn it, I'm _serious_!"

Harvey answered with a choked "no", and then he was calling to someone over his shoulder. "In here!"

The paramedics had arrived: a man and a woman. Their eyes were on him, but Mike could tell that they were only listening to what Harvey had to say.

"He was hit by a car yesterday morning. Concussion, bruised ribs. They said to watch him for increased dizziness."

"I'm fine, damn it. I don't want –"

"He'd been okay up until now, but he just blacked out about fifteen minutes ago."

"Let go of me –"

"He was only out for a second or two, but he's been complaining of dizziness since he woke up, and his chest hurts. I couldn't get to him before he hit the floor – I'm not sure how he fell; he just kind of crumpled."

Betrayal. That was the emotion churning in his stomach, threatening to crawl up his throat. He didn't _want_ to be examined. He didn't _want_ to go anywhere. He couldn't afford any more bills, and he was fine, damn it, he was _fine_. Mike was inches away from full-blown panic, but no one seemed to notice or care.

"Mike, my name is Lisa, I just want to see how you're doing, all right?" The female paramedic got a penlight and tried to look into his eyes, but Mike closed them and turned his head.

"Pulse, 160. BP 145 over 90." the other paramedic muttered to her.

"How are you feeling, Mike? Does your chest hurt?" She lifted his shirt and began gently pressing against his ribs like Donna's sister had done before.

Mike tried to push her away, but Harvey and the other paramedic quickly took control of his arms. He worked his legs in an attempt to buck everyone off him, but the movement produced another sharp pain in his chest, and he couldn't help the whimper that escaped him.

"Let me _go_," he moaned. A couple of tears escaped unnoticed from his closed eyes, as he panted and strained against them. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was overreacting, but the tidal wave of _panic-anger-betrayal-pain _drowned out any reason.

He continued to struggle, dimly aware of the paramedics talking to each other in strained voices, of Harvey muttering jumbled reassurances, of hands grabbing and pinning…

Then he felt a sharp prick, and he stopped being aware of anything.

**A/N: I'm aware that the 'sharp-prick-immediate-unconsciousness' is not at all an accurate trope. A sedative given via IV would work in seconds, but an intramuscular injection (given to a struggling patient) would take a while to knock someone out. Plus, they'd probably want to avoid just knocking someone out like that outside of a hospital setting with respiratory support. HOWEVER, please do me a favor and suspend disbelief because it's more dramatic this way, yes?**


	7. Chapter 7

Whatever they'd given him, Mike wasn't out for long. He felt a little sluggish when he woke up, but he didn't have much trouble staying awake. No, he was frustrated enough that it was easy to stay awake the entire time he was at the hospital.

All. Six. Hours.

The verdict? Orthostatic hypotension, or as it was more commonly known: a head rush. As it turned out, time spent bent over peering under a bed didn't mix well with concussions. His ribs were fine, too. Well, they hurt like a son of a bitch, but they were still only bruised. And his little meltdown? Par for the course, the doctor had assured. Apparently mood swings and emotional upheaval were common side effects of head injuries.

Of course, to find all that out he'd had to lay around on a gurney and wait, and wait… and wait for all the poking, prodding, and testing to be done to the doctor's satisfaction.

By the time he was finally released, he was in one hell of an "emotional upheaval".

"I want to go home," he told Harvey once they were back in his town car with Ray behind the wheel.

Harvey was quiet. Mike wasn't sure what the other man saw, but he was staring intently out the window as if all the answers he needed could be found on the dark streets.

"Harvey, I want to go home. Now." he repeated. He was sick of Harvey ignoring him. Of him doing whatever the hell he wanted with Mike as if he were a pet rather than a human being. Yes, the puppy analogy had been amusing at first, but they weren't in the office now, this wasn't a case, and he wasn't Harvey's _dog_.

Harvey was still quietly watching the streets go by, and Mike's frustration grew with each passing second.

"Damn it –"

"Take him home, would you Ray?" Harvey interrupted.

"Sure thing," came the answer from up front.

Even before they reached his apartment Mike realized that there was definitely something wrong with him. He didn't feel like himself. He was tired, achy, upset, frustrated, and even a little confused. The logical part of his mind easily recognized that his emotions were out of whack, just like the doctor had said. Unfortunately, the logical part of his mind was a small buoy in a turbulent sea of emotions; the information was there, but it just didn't affect anything right now. Part of Mike felt hopeless; he was being tossed around in the waves and he didn't seem to have any control over it.

"You're an ass," he told Harvey.

Harvey turned from the window to raise an eyebrow at him. "That so?"

"Yes, it's so, and you know it."

Harvey only continued to regard him with a singled raised brow, as if daring him to continue.

"I'm not your dog, Harvey. You can't just take me home with you and keep me in a little crate, and give me food and water, and give me no choice about anything. I'm not a dog, I should get to choose!"

Mike was dimly aware that he was probably getting too upset and he was beginning to repeat himself, but he couldn't seem to stop.

Harvey just stared at him. He should've known he'd never get an apology from him; Harvey was never wrong.

"You're wrong, you know? You're wrong. You're not always right about everything. Even if you had a dog, which you don't, because I'm not one, but even if you did, you should care enough about it to answer its questions and pay attention when it talks instead just assuming it doesn't know anything because it's not as experienced as you."

Mike paused mid-rant, mentally acknowledging that his metaphor had broken down somewhere; dogs didn't ask questions or talk...

But if they did, Harvey wouldn't listen to them, he was convinced. Because Harvey didn't care about anyone but himself.

"You're a selfish bastard."

Harvey's eyes left him briefly to glance out the window, and Mike realized it was because they'd just pulled up to Mike's apartment.

"You're not even listening to me; I should've known."

Mike opened his door.

Harvey reached over and handed Mike his messenger bag before he could slide out. He stared down at it confused for a second, wondering why he didn't remember getting into the car with it.

Then he remembered: he hadn't put his bag in the car because he'd been dragged to the hospital unconscious.

He scowled at the bag, then eased out of the car. Mike usually took the stairs, but tonight he rode the elevator up to his apartment. It took him several minutes to find his key in the bag, and then to get it to fit in the lock right to open the door, and by the time he was inside, he was exhausted. He dropped his bag on the floor, and went to go collapse on his bed.

* * *

><p>Louis was hosting another game night for the associates, only this time they were in a fancy studio with bright spotlights and theater seating. Mike was one of the finalists, but he couldn't see his opponent's face because the lights were in his eyes.<p>

Louis asked him to quote the Third Amendment, which Mike thought was too stupidly easy to even be a question. Come on, the Third Amendment? He'd learned all the Amendments when was a little kid.

Only after he quoted it, there was this horrible buzzing noise.

"Wrong!" Louis shouted triumphantly.

But there was no way he'd got it wrong, Mike was sure.

Louis was already asking him another question: he wanted to know the year Harvard was established.

"Easy: 1636."

The buzzing noise sounded again.

"Wrong! It was established in 1817."

"No, Harvard _Law School_ was established in 1817; Harvard _University _was established in 1636."

The buzzer again.

"Wrong! I was talking about the Law School, obviously!"

"You weren't precise, though. Law is a precise –"

_BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ_

Mike's eyes popped open, finally realizing that the buzzing was happening in his apartment, and the game show had just been a dream. He was lying on his bed, still in the previous night's clothes; but he was pleased to note that his head felt a little better.

His doorbell buzzed again, and Mike groaned and carefully rolled off the bed and got his feet under him.

His head felt better until he actually had to _move_, he amended to himself.

"Coming," he muttered making his way to the door.

He shuffled out to his living room, wondering what time it was. He tried to peek through the keyhole, but his eyes weren't cooperating so he just opened the door.

It was the very last person he expected.

"Oh God, please tell me this place isn't condemned."

He stood there in disbelief. "Donna?"

The red head slipped past him into his apartment and took a seat on the edge of one of his chairs, as if she were afraid she'd catch something if she leaned back.

He was still standing at the door, staring back at her stupidly, trying to figure out what had happened. What alternate reality had he fallen into? He glanced back at the hallway cautiously; half afraid he'd find Louis and Jessica strolling by.

He heard Donna's voice from his living room, causing him to abandon his search for proof that someone had put him in the wrong version of the Matrix.

"Okay Mike, shut the door and get over here. We need to talk."

**A/N: This may not be the medical drama many people probably thought was coming, but this is the way I originally planned it to go. I know Mike is being a huge jerk to Harvey, but in his defense, head injuries really _can_ cause these kinds of mood swings, and Mike is suffering physical effects from his injury here - he's not just being a jerk. (Though he really kinda_ is_, too. lol) Also, there's a lot more going on from Harvey's perspective, but I'm not giving his perspective in this story. Considering all you don't see in this chapter, though, I may end up writing a companion piece for this story that follows Harvey's POV.**


	8. Chapter 8

Mike approached his couch cautiously, and sat down facing Donna.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, I'm not armed. You're acting like I'm here to kill you or something."

Mike swallowed. "Did Harvey send you?" Even though he'd been pretty high on pain killers the previous night, he still remembered that he'd gone off on Harvey. He'd been upset about having to go to the hospital, and he'd been depressed, and stressed, and angry, and confused, and about a million other things, and he'd completely lost it. He was a little surprised that Harvey hadn't come to fire him in person, though.

"No, Mike. Harvey didn't send me. I offered to come."

"Okay…"

She leaned back a little and crossed her legs. "So… how are you feeling?"

"Um… confused, at the moment."

"That's not surprising," she answered, and Mike couldn't help but wonder what she meant by that.

"Let's start with physically: have you taken your pain medication this morning? How does your head feel?"

"I… no. I haven't yet. I just got up. And my head is okay… This is really weird."

"Do you have anything in your fridge?"

"Uh – did you want a drink or something? I think I've got some beer…"

One of Donna's hands suddenly came up to cover her eyes. "Oh God, you really _are _out of it."

She stood up suddenly. "Can I just check? It'll be faster. I'm just gonna take a peek in your fridge and see if there's anything edible in there, okay? Just a peek."

Mike turned his head to watch Donna as she marched over to his kitchen and opened his fridge. She proceeded to inspect its contents – and Mike couldn't even remember what was in there, so he wasn't sure what she found – and then she began opening his cupboards one by one.

"Uh… Donna?"

"Almost done," she called as her head poked into another cupboard. Then she came back around the couch and stood facing him, a box of crackers in her hands.

"All right. So here's what's going to happen: I'm going to run over to the store and get you a few things that are easy, and should keep you going for a few days. You're going to eat a few of _these_," she shoved the box of crackers at him, "and then take your pain meds."

"I –"

She held up a hand to stop him. "No interrupting, Mike. You have food in your cupboards that expired before you were born; you don't get to say anything."

Mike was pretty sure she was exaggerating, but he didn't want to push his luck so he kept quiet.

"I'll be back soon, and I'll help you put everything away, and then you are going to sit down, listen to some music, or just contemplate the state of the universe, and not do anything that's going to slow your recovery."

She looked at him expectantly, so he assumed it was okay to talk.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because you need me to." She walked over to his door, apparently done with the pep talk - or whatever it had been.

Mike spoke again, causing her to turn around with one hand on the doorknob.

"Right. I suppose you don't care either, huh? Just like Harvey. You'll say you don't care, but then you'll act strange and confusing and won't make any sense." Mike wasn't sure why he cared so much, but the inconsistency really bothered him. It wasn't that he needed to hear the words, per se, but he absolutely hated when people said one thing and did another. It felt hypocritical to him.

"You really don't get it, do you?" She stepped away from the door suddenly and came back over to him.

"Listen up, because I'm only going to say this once: words mean _shit_ when it comes to this kinda thing, Mike. Harvey is a _lawyer_; he's a master of doublespeak, innuendos, and implications – he deals with words all day – but what really matter are _actions_. Why do you think it bothers him so much when you say you're loyal to him, but you put Louis' work ahead of his? Why do you think the thing with Tom Keller upset him so much? You can _say_ you're loyal to him a hundred times, but if you don't _act _like it, it doesn't mean anything."

Mike wanted to reply, but she continued before he could get a word in.

"How many other associates does he joke around with? How many does he banter back and forth with? How many does he even _call by name_?

"When you need help, when you _really_ need it, he takes you in, feeds you, and makes sure you get the rest you need. Yes, he jokes that he doesn't care; he won't admit to caring, but he shouldn't _have_ to. Because he _acts_ like it, Mike. It's _obvious_."

Mike was floored. Donna actually had tears welling up in her eyes, and this time he didn't think they were the fake kind she liked to cry on command to torture Louis. He opened his mouth to apologize, if only to save himself from the wrath he knew would befall any man who actually made Donna cry, but again, she spoke before he could.

"You need to learn to read people better than this, Mike. You need to stop –"

Donna stopped herself abruptly with a hand pressed to her mouth. She looked up towards the ceiling and blinked back her tears. Then she leveled her gaze at Mike again as if nothing had happened.

"Take your medicine. I'll be back later."

And she was gone.

Mike heard what Donna hadn't said, loud and clear. She wanted him to stop hurting Harvey. Mike wouldn't have known Harvey was hurt from the way he acted, but the way _Donna _acted gave it away. Donna was behaving the same way she had that day when she almost didn't let him in to see Harvey after the Tom Keller incident. She'd simply said, "You hurt him", as if that explained everything.

Maybe it did. Clearly, whether it showed or not, Mike had hurt Harvey again.

Mike mulled that thought over for a while. He wasn't sure if it was fair to say, even in the privacy of his own mind, that he'd hurt Harvey _again_; Mike hadn't really done anything to hurt him the first time, had he?

He'd done what Louis had wanted because he'd felt like he had no choice. He wasn't really a Harvard graduate. Hell, he wasn't really a _lawyer_. When Louis had blackmailed him into getting high with Tom Keller, his first feeling hadn't been righteous indignation; it'd been "oh shit, I'm going to lose everything _already_."

It was easy for Harvey to sit up in his amazing corner office and tell Mike that he'd had other choices because Harvey was _used_ to having choices - Mike wasn't. So if Harvey had been hurt when Mike had chosen to break a promise to save his own ass, and hopefully his job, (and technically thereby _keeping _his promise to Harvey that he'd work to be the best lawyer he could be), then that was Harvey's problem.

Probably.

But this time wasn't as easy to explain away. Now that he thought about it, Harvey _had_ gone to great lengths to make sure Mike was taken care of after his accident. The truth was that Mike was so used to having to look after himself, that he hadn't even considered the idea that someone other than his grandmother might actually notice if something happened to him. He hadn't tried very hard to see past Harvey's don't-give-a-damn attitude because he wasn't used to people giving a damn anyway.

"God, I'm such a fuck-up," he muttered, even as he acknowledged that his concussion-induced depression was rearing its ugly head again. He tucked the box of crackers under an arm, and carefully leaned over to grab his messenger bag that he'd left near the coffee table. His phone was tucked inside, right where he'd left it, and miraculously, someone had turned it off so he still had a little battery left.

He powered up the phone, and dialed Harvey's number. No time to apologize like the present, he figured.

Harvey's voice mail picked up after four rings, and Mike hung up. It was strange for Harvey to not answer his phone at... Mike glanced at the clock on his living room wall... eight-thirty in the morning. A sour feeling in Mike's stomach told him he should consider the possibility that Harvey didn't want to talk to him. After all, as far as Mike recalled, the last time he'd spoken to Harvey he'd been telling him what a selfish bastard he was.

Mike sighed. He felt like shit. He opened the box of crackers, and stuffed a couple in his mouth, then dug his pain meds out of his messenger bag and swallowed one dry.


	9. Chapter 9

Mike didn't realize he'd fallen asleep on his couch until the shrill sound of his phone alarm woke him up. He groaned and sat up, slowly rolling his head to work the kinks out of his neck.

His cell phone sat on the corner of the coffee table, tethered by its charging cable to the nearest wall plug. Currently, it was squealing the most annoying sound Mike had ever heard – definitely not one he normally used. He grabbed it and shut it off.

He hadn't set his alarm to go off at noon, but then he hadn't left his phone plugged in, either. Clearly, Donna had been back and had arranged this painful wake-up. His eyes landed on a small post-it note stuck to the coffee table.

_Wake up and eat something! Sub sandwich is in the fridge! _it said.

He checked his phone's settings and sure enough, she'd set the alarm to ring at dinner, too.

He shuffled over to his fridge and found himself blinking in surprise at its contents. A giant sub sandwich, a few different kinds of fruit, a package of lunch meat, and a gallon of milk were all in plain sight. He was almost afraid to open the freezer, but he did anyway and found it packed from top to bottom with just about every frozen entree Mike had ever seen, and a few he hadn't.

If he hadn't known it before, he definitely knew now: Donna was _scary_.

Mike spent the rest of the day lazing around his apartment, doing nothing but eating, and sleeping, and thinking. He tried to call Harvey once more, but got his voice mail again and hung up. He figured Harvey probably didn't want to talk to him, and since he wanted to keep his job, he decided to respect that.

After spending that whole day and the next at home, Mike went back to the office. He hadn't waited a whole week like the doctor had said, but he really felt a lot better and just wanted to get back to work and stop being bored. His ribs were still pretty sore, especially since he was no longer taking the heavy painkillers, but his headache was all but gone so he figured it was safe to read again. (And he knew that if he didn't get something to read/do he was going to go insane.)

He went to his cubicle early, a little surprised to see no work waiting for him. It was only then that he realized that other people probably would have found out that he'd been hurt - and all his work reassigned when he couldn't come in.

Just as that thought occurred to him, a few of the other associates started to trickle in with greetings of "good to have you back, man", and "nice to see you."

He smiled and nodded where appropriate, glad that no one bothered him further, and started going through his email. He had just opened the first message when he heard a low, slightly menacing voice.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He jerked in his seat, a hand automatically moving to brace his left side. "Harvey... uh…"

"My office, now."

Mike dutifully followed Harvey, thinking that this was it - this was when Harvey would finally cut him loose.

Harvey indicated the couch. "Sit."

Mike sat.

"What day was your accident?" Harvey asked in a deceptively calm voice, taking a seat beside him.

"Uh...last Wednesday?" He stated it as a question not because he wasn't sure, but because he didn't know why Harvey was asking.

"And what day is today?"

"Monday."

"Wednesday to Monday. Does that sound like a week to you? Because I was sure the doctor said you should have at least a week off."

Mike sighed. "She said I could go back earlier if I felt okay, and I do. The headache is gone."

"She said you could try reading for a little while if you felt better, not that you could come put in a 14 hour day the minute your head stopped hurting."

There was a moment's hesitation, and then both men started speaking at the same time.

"Look, Harvey –"

"Damn it, Mike –"

Mike cut off the same time Harvey did, but before either of they could say anything else, Donna's voice came through the intercom.

"Hey this folder – I think it contains a class _action_ lawsuit, but I'm not sure because I can't make out the _words_."

Mike rolled his eyes, but got the message. Harvey needed to see action; he needed solid proof that Mike meant what he said.

"I'll go home at lunch time. Sooner, if my head feels funny." Mike hoped Harvey would understand the gesture for what it was. Mike was going to _show _Harvey that he was listening.

Harvey had been staring over at a wall, but now he blinked and looked back at Mike. "I – I'm just a little worried, all right? You scared the shit out of me, kid."

Mike barely kept his mouth from dropping open in shock as Harvey stood up and moved back towards his desk. He shot a glance towards Donna's area out in the hall, and saw her raise an eyebrow at him as if to say, "See?"

"Here. Start with this." Harvey paused, waiting for Mike as he rose to take the folder. "This is the summary for the Klein case. Check the bulleted points to see if we've missed anything."

Mike's headache didn't come back, but he went home at lunch anyway. He only stayed until three the next day, and turned Louis down when he tried to give Mike work to take home with him. Harvey had asked him to take it easy, so he was taking it easy. Still, the guilt he felt at what he'd said to Harvey that night continued to eat at him. Harvey hadn't even mentioned it. In fact, Harvey seemed to be acting like it had never even happened.

Finally, Wednesday rolled around. It had been a full week since the accident, and three days since Mike had started back at work, doing his best to _show _his loyalty to Harvey. Mike came in early, and kept an eye out for Harvey's arrival. As soon as he saw the other man enter his office, Mike caught up with him.

"We need to talk." Mike shoved his hands into his pockets and stood in front of Harvey's desk, unable to stop the tension from filling his shoulders.

Harvey raised an eyebrow. "We do?"

"I'm sorry. About what I said. That night in the car. I was an ass. I didn't mean any of it. Well, maybe I did at the time… a little. But that's only because I didn't understand, you know? But I get it now." Mike was too nervous to be mortified by the way he couldn't seem to speak in complete sentences.

Harvey just stood there behind his desk, and Mike wasn't sure if he was fighting amusement or anger.

"Thank you. For everything. Really, Harvey. You were awesome." He swallowed and forced himself to shut up.

Finally, Harvey smirked. "Why is my awesomeness past tense? I'm _always _awesome."

Mike released the breath he'd been holding and felt his shoulders loosen.

"Apology accepted, but instead of thanking me, how about you just get those Klein briefs finished today?"

"I'm on it."

**END!**

**A big thank you to all of you who created multiple accounts just to put my story on alert several times and make me feel special. (Don't deny it, I know some of you must be repeats!)**

**I'm going to write the companion to this piece next. It'll be the same story from Harvey's POV. Thanks for reading! :)**


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